


What Lies Beneath the Scarf?

by orphan_account



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: America is kind of An asshole, Angst, Bottom Ivan, England is a mom, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Ivan heart falls out, M/M, Modern Day, Multi, Self Harm, Top Alfred, Top Arthur
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-30
Updated: 2018-09-30
Packaged: 2019-07-20 20:16:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 16
Words: 15,670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16144721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Ivan Braginsky has been acting odd for quite a while. Alfred and Arthur team up to become the ultimate mystery solving duo to find out exactly why. However, they discover a very dark secret. Smut, fluff, motherly behaviors, and romance follow.





	1. The World Meeting

Ivan Braginsky, better known as the personification of the Russian Fedration was one of the many personifications of the world's nations attending what seemed like the 36th world meting that had been held in the summer months alone. This world meeting was being held in America; as the last one had been in Italy. This meeting was particularly gruelling for Ivan. He was in the land of his old enemy; and it was particularly warm. The Russian was seated to Alfred F. Jones' right; thus having to hear the cheery American's rather loud and somewhat bothersome voice as he rambled about how fantastic his country was, peculiar solutions to world problems, and about food. Ivan found himself scribbling small pictures on the paper he'd been given to take notes with instead of writing down key points of what Alfred was saying. 

Sighing quietly, Ivan carefully set his ornately decorated pen on his papers before gingerly grabbing his cup of black tea and taking a sip. He set the florally patterned teacup back in its saucer before hiding the lower portion of his face in his rather tattered, Creme coloured scarf. The Russian rested his hands on his stomach and closed his eyes; deciding to rest for a moment. "Hey guys! Russia is like totally being really rude right now!", an obnoxiously loud voice interrupted his moment of not silence. "I'm making super awesome points and stuff and he's over here sleeping.", Alfred drawled on; causing Ivan to open his eyes and glare at the sunny blonde angrily. After about fifteen seconds of Ivan's glaring, the personification of America went near silent; no longer of pointing out how Ivan was being rude and instead getting back onto the topic of how he was the worlds hero.

The meeting continued on for at least another thirty minutes before Ludwig Beilschmidt, or Germany; raised a hand and informed Alfred that there was approximately three minutes left in the meeting. 

"Oh, uh, yeah! Yeah I knew that. Duh! A hero knows everything. Anyway, your guys's homework is to uh.. uh.. to watch a documentary on the American Constitution! Meeting dismissed!", Alfred Quipped; causing a few of the more immature nations to groan quietly. Ivan however instead of grumbling curses to the American as he usually would, carefully put his scribbled on papers and pen into his briefcase and stood; walking briskly to exit the meeting room to the surprise of Alfred. 

The American had been hoping to aggravate the Russian, possibly start a fight; which would be great fun. Alfred schemed in his mind as he watched the world's very own villain and his nemesis walk away. Alfred left all his papers, his take-out fast food meal and his extra large carbonated soda scattered on the table where he'd been sitting in favor of following after Ivan.

Ivan heard footsteps behind him. They were light compared to his own, and from what he could hear they were moving quickly towards him. The Russian did not bother Turing to find out; instead continuing to walk as he tried to remember the address of the hotel he was staying at.

A rough shove to Ivan's right shoulder sent him stumbling momentarily despite his weight and height. He quickly regained his balance and stopped walking to see who had shoved him; frowning and narrowing his eyes as he spotted Alfred grinning slyly. "What do you want Alfred?", he grumbled irritably. 

"Well my dude, I have to teach you not to sleep during my super important meetings somehow don't I?", he asked; wondering silently why Ivan hadn't even threatened him. "I was not sleeping. I was resting my eyes. The lights in that room are far too bright.", The tall Russian explained halfheartedly; telling the truth but not defending it as earnestly as normal.

"Yeah yeah, that's bullshit but I guess I'll let you off the hook this time since you're a guest in my awesome country.", Alfred stated confidently with a proud grin. Ivan didn't respond with anything more than a nod; continuing to walk to the front doors of the building the meeting had been held in.

Well.. that didn't go as Alfred planned at all. Ivan was acting kind of different then he usually did.. maybe the manipulative communist was plotting something! Entertained by his own thoughts; Alfred decided he would spy on the Russian. He knew which hotel he was staying in. It'd be totally awesome! He could find out what Ivan did in his spare time besides obviously villain things; and perhaps just how many people he disembowelled. Alfred smirked to himself and adjusted his glasses, waiting until he saw Ivan get into a yellow cab before going to the front doors as well and beginning to walk to the street the hotel would be on.


	2. The Great American Steakout

Ivan's yellow cab came to a stop in front of the hotel he was staying in. The meeting had taken all evening; as it was now nighttime. Thanking the driver, he paid the fare of his ride and exited the cab; walking into the grand lobby of the hotel and continuing to walk towards the elevators. As he walked; he overhead American citizens talking about him. The big scary man with the scarf and weird purple eyes. How many people he'd probably killed, how he looked like he was going to set the building on fire or kick a puppy. The Russian had grown used to hearing such things from even his own citizens, however that did not make the hushed whispers hurt any less. 

Pressing the button on the wall near the elevator with the up arrow symbol, he waited impatiently for the machine to arrive and transport him to his floor. He sighed when the doors opened, stepping inside and pressing the button with his floor number before examining the wall paper in the elevator. Soon enough; he was on his own floor. Ivan walked tiredly to his room, opening it with his key card and immediately laying down on the floor. He felt as if his limbs were made of lead. The Russian remained on the carpeted floor, not trying to move at all. 

Alfred waited another ten minutes before climbing nimbly up the fire escape that he was sure was connected to the room Russia was staying. When he reached the platform, Alfred crouched low to the ground and peered in the window. Nobody was in there.. had he accidentally thought of the wrong room number? Pressing his ear to the outside of the window near the base; he listened for any noise. The lights in the room were on, so maybe Ivan; if it was in fact the room he was staying in was using the restroom? 

The American heard nothing for a minute or two before a low groan echoed eerily throughout the room. Alfred shuddered ans quickly ducked down. It was definitely Ivan's room. Nobody else he'd ever met sounded that scary. But why was he groaning and why couldn't Alfred see him? 

Ivan forced himself to his feet and leaned against one of the hotel room walls for support, rubbing his temples tiredly before stumbling over to the plush hotel bed and plopping onto the freshly cleaned comforter with a sigh. Recently, or rather in the last 60 years; Ivan had noticed how nothing seemed to bring him happiness anymore. Not even fighting with America, or sunflowers. The Russian sat upright with another groan and reached into his inner coat pockets, drawing from it a bottle of pure Russian vodka. He opened it, not bothering to count the amount of cracks it made for good luck as he often did ; and instead holding it to his lips and relishing the bitter taste the alcohol left in his mouth and the burn in his throat. 

Alfred cautiously peered into the window once again; grinning victoriously as he spotted his nemesis. The American continued to watch the Russian, watch him take a bottle of vodka from his pocket and drink as if it were like water. What an alcoholic. Regardless of how somewhat disgusted Alfred was by the Russians alcoholism, he continued watching him. The American didn't really have anything better to do anyway.

After Ivan had finished off the bottle of vodka, he got out of bed and turned the main lights off to his room; taking off his coat, boots, and his military pants. The Russian changed into the pair of soft light pink silk sleepwear pants he'd brought and hung his coat neatly on the back of a chair at a writing desk before setting his boots beside it. Ivan carefully got into the hotel bed; and adjusted the pillows to his liking. All of the pillows were moved to form somewhat of a bowl shape around the Russian. He rested his head on the most fluffy of the pillows; and held one against his chest.

Alfred watched him still; fighting to hold back his laughter. He'd seen Ivan's briefs The Russian was wearing light purple ones with little white rabbits on them. Still, despite the funny underwear; Alfred was jealous. Ivan was huge. Not just in the height and weight department; but more specifically the genitalia department. Alfred supposed it made sense that the biggest country on earth had likely the biggest package.. what the hell was he thinking about?! Shaking his head to figuratively clear away his thoughts; he glanced through the window once more. Ivan had arranged all the pillows on the bed into a nest and was cuddling with them. Alfred couldn't help but giggle to himself. He had to get a photograph of this. It was just too comical. Big scary Russia; cuddling pillows. Alfred took his cellular phone from his pocket and quickly snapped a photograph; realizing as it was too late he hadn't turned the flash off. Quickly; he jumped off of the platform and descended the ladder before running away from the hotel as fast as he could.

Ivan noticed a flashing light outside his window. However; he ignored it and continued to try and sleep, not doing very well. The Russian was kept awake almost all night by his thoughts. 

Alfred, having safely made it back to his home in the city World Meetings were being held in; finally looked at the picture he'd taken of his enemy. He currently had the best cellular phone available on the market, so as to be expected the photo was perfectly clear. Alfred frowned as he looked at th photograph. Were those tears on Ivan's cheeks..? Had Russia been crying?? The American continued to analyse the photo. Ivan had definitely been crying when the picture was taken; so how had Alfred not noticed the tears before he took the photo?? He decided to interrogate the Russian tomorrow at the last meeting before the nation's were allowed to go back home.


	3. The Last Meeting

Alfred yawed theatrically and stretched in his king sized bed with patriotic sheets and comforter. He'd slept really well, and it was a good thing too, seeing as he had another awesome meeting to run. Hopping out of his bed, the american went to his bathroom and brushed his teeth and hair befor reliving himself and heading to his kitchen. He poured himself a glass of orange juice and put some bacon on the stove top to cook; making pancake batter and a biscuit as well. After he'd eaten; Alfred drove straight to the meeting building. He was going to be the first one there for sure, then he could maybe try talking to Ivan in a more..friendly way perhaps.

Ivan opened his eyes slowly and sighed. He had not slept well at all, falling asleep an hour or so before the hotels alarm call awoke him from his light slumber. He decided in that moment to not attend the World Meeting. Nobody would notice his absence anyway. Dragging himself out of bed; he closed the curtains to his rooms window as he'd forgotten to last night and went right back into his pillow nest.

Alfred waited eagerly in his seat at the head of the large oval table in the meeting room. After a few minutes he took his cellular phone from his pocket and looked at the photo of Ivan he'd taken. Had the camera on his phone messed up somehow? He really didn't remember Ivan crying. He'd ask Arthur, also known as the United Kingdom about it. As if on cue; the Englishman entered the room with a cup of tea and a stack of papers tucked neatly under his arm. His hair was as messy as ever, however he looked like he'd slept well.

"Hey, Iggy!", the american called, "I need your opinion on somethin'.", he grinned; walking towards his former caretaker happily.

"What is it this time..?", the Brit groaned somewhat; hoping with all of his heart that Alfred wasn't going to ask his opinion on which cat meme he should put on his social media's.

The American brandished his cellular phone in the Englishman's face. "Is Russia crying in this picture?", he asked boldly. Arthur's eyes widened in surprise. The photograph wasn't a cat meme, or anything similar. It was Russia. Many questions flooded Arthur's mind; however he took the cellular phone to better examine the photo. "Ah, well I would say so.. why do you have this photo?", he asked; handing the cellular phone back to its owner.

"Well Russia's been acting kinda weird lately..like for the last few decades so I set up a steakout to see if he was plotting something. I took the picture because he was totally cuddling with a shit ton of pillows and it was hilarious.", he explained. 

Arthur nodded. "I see. Stay safe though, alright? Everyone knows how unpredictable and dangerous he can be."

"Yeah yeah I know. That fat Commie ain't got nothing on the amazing ness of the USA though.", Alfred stated proudly. 

Arthur shrugged and took his seat; sipping his tea. 

Alfred watched as nations filed into the room and took their assigned seats. Soon enough it was well past the time everyone was supposed to be there. Where was Russia? Was he hiding somewhere waiting to attack? Alfred waited five more minutes before frowning. He had to start the meeting. Almost begrudgingly, he began his presentation; soon forgetting about Russia as he enthusiastically shared his awesome ideas with his friends and fellow nations.

Soon enough; the meeting was ended. Russia had not shown up at all. Not once. Where the hell had he been? Muttering curses at the cold nation, Alfred walked to his car and began driving to the hotel Ivan was staying at.

He parked his car on the street and stormed inside the building. Room 213 on the second floor. That's where the bastard was hiding away if he was even in the hotel. He took the elevator to the second floor and practically stomped all ththe way to Ivan's room before pounding on the door. "It's Alfred, open up!", he called.

Ivan groaned as his peace was interrupted by a loud thudding accompanied by shouting on the door of his hotel room. Dragging himself out of bed and adjusting his scarf, Ivan groggily walked over to the door and unlocked it; peeking through the crack. 

As soon as Alfred saw the door open a tad, he quickly shoved it open all the way. 

Ivan hissed in pain and held his oversized nose; glaring at the American that had hit him in the in the face with the door. "What do you want Alfred?", he grumbled. "And how did you know where I was staying?

"I'm asking the questions here Commie, not you.", Alfred stated; letting himself into the Russians hotel room and looking around. "Where the hell were you at the meeting?", he demanded.

"I was in this room.", Ivan answered; rubbing his nose gingerly. 

Alfred groaned and sighed, obviously exasperated. "That would explain your stupid girly pants. Why were you crying last night? Yeah, don't get pissed but I was watching you for a bit. Just because that's what heroes do and stuff. Plus your in my country so I can."

Ivan frowned, but made no move to attack Alfred as the American had been expecting. "I was not crying.", Ivan lied. 

"Oh yeah? What's this then?", the American asked snootily, showing Ivan the photo he'd taken. 

In less than an instant; the cellular phone was snatched from Alfred's hand. Within a few more seconds the device lay in pieces on the hotel floor. 

"Hey!", Alfred shouted. "That was my phone you shit head!" , The American continued to shout rude things about the Russian until he'd ran out of breath. Even then he still punched the Russian in the face, hard enough that it would definitely bruise. Ivan's nose began to bleed. Ivan, astonishingly still did not attack; instead walking away and putting on his coat.


	4. Leaving America

Ivan felt something hit the back of his head as he was changing back onto his military pants. The had thrown the empty bottle of vodka at him and succeeded in breaking it against Ivan's head with the force of his throw. After he'd redone his belt, he turned to look at the American. Alfred was obviously very angry, however it was to be expected. Although knowing how easy it would be for Alfred to simply buy another cellular phone, Ivan still felt a twinge of guilt. He quickly pushed it away however as he finished packing his suitcase and briefcase. "Look at me when I'm talking to you dammit!", Alfred shouted. Ivan looked at him. "I am leaving now. Farewell.", he responded abnormally calmly. 

The Russian began to walk out of the door, not stopping to look back at the angry American. Alfred didn't follow him as he walked through the lobby of the hotel and onto the street, hailing a can and asking the driver to take him to the closest international airport. The driver nodded and began to drive. Within thirty minutes they arrived at the American international airport. Once again Ivan paid and thanked the driver before getting out of the vehicle with his luggage. 

Ivan went straight to the gate his boss had told him to go to once the meetings were over. The Russian didn't go through security checkings as he went to the gate. Ivan expected a cheap small plane, and was pleasantly surprised as he looked at his gate and noticed a sleek black jet. Smiling internally; the Russian walked onto the asphalt from his gate and boarded the jet. A Russian pilot greeted him and informed Ivan that the jet had vodka in it. Ivan thanked him and set his luggage down before taking a seat; and a bottle of vodka from a fancy compartment in the jet. 

The pilot announced that he was beginning the take off procedures and shortly they were in the air as promised, going back to Ivans home land. On the frankly rather loud flight, Ivan began to doze off. The continuous roar of the jet's engines helped the Russian to not think about anything really other than Alfred. He'd just walked away from the american, what came next? He practically walked right out of his country. Ivan made sure he didn't give Alfred a very good reason to attack, seeing as how cheap cellular phones were and how good the american economy was doing.

The Russian fell asleep on the flight back to his country within the first few hours of the aircraft leaving the airport. Within around 7 hours the small jet and its passengers had flown into Russia. The jet landed at the UFA international airport. The pilot of the jet swallowed nervously as he pulled the jet into it's hanger; knowing he would have to be the one to wake the intimidating man that was his passenger. 

Reluctantly, the man of medium height with salt and pepper hair left the cockpit and approached Ivan. "A-ah, sir..?", he asked quietly; gently tapping Ivan's shoulder. When the platinum blonde didn't respond, the pilot tried again. "Sir?", he asked. Ivan opened his eyes with somewhat of a growl, causing the pilot to scamper away to hide behind one of the luxurious seats in the aircraft.

Ivan stood and stretched with a tired frown, rubbing his eyes and collecting his baggage before opening the jet's side door and jumping out; landing on the snowy asphalt. The pilot watched his passenger leave. He hadn't even waited for the stairs to be pulled up to the jet. What a madman. 

Ivan walked across the asphalt and into the airport itself. It was small and somewhat rundown compared to other international airports of his country, but it was also the closest to his permanent place of residence. The Russian diplomat strolled leisurely to the parking garage he'd left his car in, his experiences in America beginning to figuratively crush him once again. Perhaps he shouldn't have skipped the meeting. Oh well. The past was in the past now.

Ivan found his car after wandering through the parking garage for about thirty minutes. An old GAZ-21 left over from his time as the Soviet Union. Amongst other countries, Alfred often made fun of his car. It was small and did not have nearly as much power as newer brands. It was certainly not flashy and meant for show as Alfred's were now, however at the time Ivan had purchased it the car had been a small fraction of his pride and joy for his glorious Soviet Union. Ivan had been proud to wear Hero of the People award, proud to drink only Russian caravan tea from high quality samovars. However, as his precious Soviet Union was dissolved; Ivan found that what he was once so dignified over, now only brought him more sadness.

The Russian stood near his car for five minutes before remembering to actually look for his keys. He searched through his coat pockets, thinking perhaps that it wouldn't be a terrible idea to organize or clean them. Eventually though he found his keys and unlocked his car, putting his luggage into the trunk before getting into the drivers seat and starting the vehicles engine. His face hurt from where Alfred had punched him. Sighing quietly to himself, he drove out of the parking garage and turned on his vehicles ancient stereo to a classical music station. The drive him was not in any way interesting. Despite it being summer months, there was still snow on the ground. Ivan doubted it would be there much longer however with the sun boring down on it everyday. 

After a few hours, Ivan finally arrived at his home. He stopped his car at the large front gates to his mansion and entered his thirty seven digit passcode into a small, old keypad; getting back into his car as the iron gates slowly creaked open. Ivan's estate was surrounded by tall white marble walls, ensuring almost no body would get inside uninvited. The home itself was a reclaimed Romanov summer home. It was elegant despite its age, and it gave off an almost ghostly feel. Ivan knew that under the thin layers of snow, there was an immaculate garden..that surely was dead. The Russian had tried almost every year to get things to grow in the gardens to no avail. 

Pulling his car into a garage on the side of the mansion, Ivan killed the engine and got out once more; collecting his luggage from the trunk before locking the car habitually.


	5. Home at Last

[Warning: there will be graphic depictions of self harm and rape in this chapter.]

Ivan rummaged through his coat pocket for yet another set of keys, these ones to unlock his home. Occasionally Ivan wondered if he was too excessive with his security. Locks on every single door, locking his car, a ridiculously long passcode to simply pass theough heavy front gates.

He supposed it was needed, however. Ivan had a great many secrets he wanted nobody to discover. Setting his luggage down after unlocking the door in his garage to his home, Ivan walked through his home. The inside of his mansion was just as elegant as Ivan was himself. Old paintings of past Soviet leaders and the Royal family adorned the walls of hallways that seemed to stretch on endlessly. Carpet with gold and blood red designs rested on the fine wood floors, Which had begun recently to creak more often; reminding Ivan of how lonely his home really was. At the time it had been built, it was a wonder of technology. Graceful architecture and gas lamps, running water. There was no heating system other than the grand fireplace that was the centrepiece of the living room, however.

Ivan walked past an old Soviet Flag and an old painting of Anna Demidova. 

Ivan entered the living room and looked at his fireplace before walking over to it tiredly. The Russian gathered some firewood that he'd cut a few days prior to going to America and gingerly placed it into the fireplace, adding a bit of newspaper he had sitting beside the firewood pile as well. Ivan searched his pockets for a lighter, finding his old metal one from perhaps the Second World War. He lit the corner of one of the newspapers and watched as the bright flames slowly spread to the firewood. 

When the fire was going nicely, Ivan added bigger logs to the flames and walked away. The Russian walked to the bottom of a grand staircase that lead to his own bedroom amongst a few other empty bedrooms that used to belong to the other nations that had formed the Soviet Union with him, and two bathrooms. Ivan began to walk up the stairs slowly, feeling rather lethargic and unable to move at the speed he wanted; as if he were stuck in tar. 

Eventually he made it to the top of the staircase and meandered down yet another long hallway, entering one of the bathrooms. The Russian shut the door behind him and looked at himself in the mirror. He looked truly awful. There were dark circles underneath his dull and nearly lifeless looking eyes, he looked paler than usual, there was a dark purple bruise from America's punch on his cheek as well as dried blood from his nose. His hair had become greasy. He sighed and looked away, carefully opening one of the drawers underneath the countertop. 

This particular bathroom in his home had always smelled differently from the others. Ivan knew the reasons why it smelled different, like old iron or perhaps decaying wood. The reason was quite simple, Blood.

After moving aside few items in the drawer, a hairbrush, expensive cologne, and a stick of deodorant Ivan found what he was looking for. A thin wooden box at he back of the drawer engraved with dancing bears and elegant swans. Taking the box from the drawer carefully, Ivan set it on the countertop gently and opened it. The glimmer of the razor blades that rested neatly on red velvet was quite a beautiful sight to Ivan's tired eyes. The natural light from the window above the bathtub gave the small room an almost empty feel despite the large man occupying the small space.

Ivan picked up one of the blades delicately, turning it over in his fingers to examine both sides. He wanted the sharpest razor blade he had for what he was going to do. A sharp blade meant a clean cut, and more importantly a more painful wound. 

The Russian gingerly set what he'd deemed the sharpest blade on the countertop and took off his heavy coat, Hanging it on the towel rack on the wall behind him. Ivan looked at the blade he'd chosen once again, and at the undersides of his wrists and forearms. Hundreds, if not thousands of scars adorned the pale skin. Some of them were silvery and thin, those were the oldest and they had been somewhat light. Newer ones were a light link colour and were raised above his skin due to excess levels of collagen. 

Ivan gently held the razor to his left wrist with his right hand and pushed the tip of the blade into his skin with a small wince. He inhaled slowly and dragged the blade across his arm from where the tip had entered his skin, relishing in the painful stinging and the satisfaction of watching the blade tear his skin open; leaving light pink flesh dotted with blood. Ivan continued watching each deep cut he made in his skin. Tears formed in his eyes from his body's natural reaction to pain. 14 deep cuts. 17 shallow ones on his left arm. 16 deep cuts and 19 shallow ones on his right arm. 

Ivan didn't bandage the wounds when he finished slicing his skin to his satisfaction. Instead he simply stood with his arms over the elegant sink on the countertop, watching his blood drip into the sink. The Russian stood at the sink for what seemed like ages. About 45 minutes really, until the last cut had stopped bleeding. 

The Russian turned on the faucet of the sink with trembling hands, putting his left arm under the gentle stream of water first and rinsing off the excessive amount of blood before doing the same for his right arm. 

Eventually, Ivan left the bathroom after rinsing the blood out of the sink and collecting his coat. He walked to his bedroom quietly, still crying silently; however due to emotions he kept hidden from the world instead of pain. 

Ivan's bedroom was quite exquisite. A heavy oak door engraved with bears, tigers, chamomile flowers, and eagles. The inside of the room was beautiful as well. One large window allowed Ivan a view above the marble walls of the forest that surrounded his home. His bed, was very large. Silk sheets embroidered with borzois adorned the bed. There were many pillows as well and a large stuffed bear. Nobody knew about the bear except Ivan himself. 

After standing at the window in his bedroom for a little while to allow his new wounds to scab over, Ivan hung his coat in his wardrobe and carefully removed his shirt, pants, and boots before sitting on his bed beside the large stuffed bear. After a few moments Ivan began to sob. No longer were his tears silently slipping down his cheeks as he gazed aimlessly at his surroundings. Now the tears were accompanied with weak whimpers and sniffling. 

Nobody cared about him. Nobody loved him. All of the worlds nations were afraid of him. He was a freak, and he should not be allowed to be in public. He would murder everyone around him. He is a psychopath, incapable of feeling anything other than rage and he urge to kill. He was ugly as well. Fat, pale, hairy, and with purple eyes. His nose was too big. Even his own sisters had told him he was not easy on the eyes to look at. Still, that hadn't prevented Prussia and Mongolia from raping him when he was defenceless and young. He'd been captured after a battle with the two. Taken back to Mongolia's castle like home and tied down for easier access to his vital regions. 

Ivan recalled possibly one of the worst months of his life in vivid detail against his will. He remembered stumbling through the woods in snow up to almost his waist, knowing fully that if he stopped moving he would freeze to death in a matter of minutes. That's when Mongolia appeared. The man had hopped down from a tree gracefully and had landed in front of him. "What are you doing out here little one..?", he'd purred; grabbing the young Russians arm and flinging him over his shoulder as if he were weightless. Ivan remembered protesting, punching and kicking at the man to no avail. The man walked through the deep snow effortlessly, and soon they were at a beautiful home. 

Ivan had been thrown onto a mat of soft pillows and blankets. He remembered thinking that perhaps the man was going to help him, warm him up and take care of him. However, those hopes had quickly vanished as his precious scarf was harshly yanked from its spot around his neck to be replaced with a leather dog collar. The Mongolian had chained him by the collar and by shackles on his wrists and ankles to a stone wall. 

"You are going to be serving me. You will do whatever I tell you to unless you want your throat slit.", the Mongolian had informed, sneering at him cruelly before completing stripping him of clothing with a sharp knife. Ivan's already tattered clothes had fallen around him, sliced at the hems and leaving his pale adolescent body bare to the Mongolian.

Prussia had arrived some weeks after Ivan had first been captured. The Russian recalled his Mongolian captors leer as he was introduced to Prussia, or rather was introduced to Prussia's cock while Mongolia had watched; joining in at a later time.

This torture and abuse of Ivan's young body continued almost daily for months. He would receive a small bowl of food and water in the morning, which he would be forced to eat without the use of his hands; and then Mongolia would take the chain attached to his collar and lead him to a restroom. 

It had been Yao Wang, or China; who rescued him from what Ivan thought would be the rest of his life. Yao had removed the collar and attended to the whip wounds amongst other injuries that he'd sustained with his time under Mongolia and Prussia, as well as fed and clothed him. Ivan was still thankful to the Chinese diplomat to this day, even if he wasn't able to thank him personally due to how often everyone ran away from him.


	6. The Comfort of Children’s Toys

Ivan sighed sadly and moved closer to his stuffed bear, adjusting his body and the bears soft, plush filled body so that the childs toy had its sewn arms draped over the Russian, similar to how a couple in love would cuddle. Ivan sobbed into the stuffed animals chest, wishing more than anything he had someone to comfort him instead of a toy. Someone who would rub his back softly and promise him that they would never leave him. Somebody that wouldn't hurt him or mock his imperfections. 

The Russian knew however, that for him no such person would exist. Ever. At least, not outside of his imagination. Ivan often fantasized about Arthur in these sorts of situations. On more than one occasion Ivan had seen the blonde Englishman comfort other nations. He'd comforted Alfred after the events of 9/11, France, or Francis after the French Revolution and likely many of the other countries. 

Sniffling, Ivan snuggled into his stuffed companion more and pulled his comforter over himself and the bear; residing himself to what he suspected would be another sleepless night. Even with the heavy comforter, Ivan's room was amongst the coldest in the house. It seemed there was a chill in the air wherever the Russian Federation went, as Feliciano, North Italy often complained when Ivan entered meeting rooms and such.

It had become a routine, this mutilating of his skin. It's started sometime in the 14th century, after he'd become a feared but still small nation. People wouldn't talk to him, wouldn't so much as acknowledge him. Ivan would become angry, and take out his rage on hismlef, or; on a poor unsuspecting soul. Nobody knew about his self inflicted wounds. Not even Belarus, his younger sister who seemed to know every little thing about him. How could anyone know when he always wore his scarf and winter coat? Those two articles of clothing covered everything he didn't want prying eyes to see.

The Russian closed his eyes, and after what felt like hours of messy crying and hushed whimpers, Ivan fell asleep; cradled in the embrace of an inanimate object that had provided little, but still much appreciated comfort in times of need such as this.


	7. The Mystery Solving Duo

Alfred F. Jones grinned proudly as he finished packing his bald eagle suitcase full of patriotic clothing and other essentials, like a hamburger military meal sealed in thick plastic, for emergencies of course.

He was going to go to Russia. As the worlds hero, it was his duty. He just had to get to the bottom of this mystery, that yes; might've been around for sixty years or so but never with this intensity. Before it was just Russia being grumpy, but now it was Russia being grumpy, quiet, withdrawn, and skipping meetings. He'd take Arthur with him too. Since the English man had experience with solving mysteries from what Alfred had seen of Sherlock Holmes.

"Yo Arthur, are you done packing yet?", he called to the air in his home. After his last confrontation with Russia, Alfred had returned to the meeting building to collect his things. Most of the other countries had left to go back to their respective lands, however a few had stayed. Arthur and Francis namely. Why had they stayed? From what Alfred walked in on, it was either to do actual work, or the more likely; to bicker and fight as everyone knew they loved to do. Alfred had dragged Arthur's aside and informed him of his mission, asking if wanted to help. The Englishman had agreed after a few minutes of thought, thinking that it would be nice to spend time with his former colonies. Even if it was to go to Russia and possibly be brutally attacked by Ivan Braginsky.

"Yes Alfred, what time is our flight leaving?", Arthur responded, picking up his suitcase and walking to the Americans overly patriotic bedroom.

"Uh..we can go right now. I know the pilot really well, he's a super nice dude and he's got a really fast plane. The flight should only take like three hours, isn't that crazy? It's technically a fighter jet but it seats like seven people." Alfred announced proudly.

"Ah, I see. I will go wait in your car then, and do hurry.", Arthur informed the American with a small smirk, enjoying how enthusiastic Alfred was about his inventions. The Englishman walked through the American's house and into his garage; familiar with the layout of Alfreds home. Arthur deposited his luggage in the back seats of Alfred's cherry red Range Rover and climbed into the passenger seat.

Within a few minutes, a suitcase was carelessly tossed onto the back seat with Arthur's luggage as well and Alfred hoped into the drivers seat, turning the car on and opening the garage door before bucking his seatbelt and backing out of the garage. After closing the garage and tuning his radio to a pop station, Alfred began to drive to the airport, happily humming along to the song on the radio.

Within the next thirty minutes the duo arrived at the airport. Alfred drove right onto the tarmac and parked his car beside a red white and blue flighter jet. A man in a Hawaiian shirt and cargo shorts stood at the bottom of the stairs that lead into the jet. After waiting for Alfred to exit his car with his baggage and approach the portable staircase, the man hugged the American diplomat happily. "Good to see ya Alfie. We're goin' to Russia today yeah?", he asked. Alfred hugged the man as well. "Yep! Hey, thanks for doing this too Buddy.", Alfred grinned.

Arthur got out of the car and got his luggage as well, walking to where the two Americans were now happily chatting. "Oh, I almost forgot!", Alfred chirped before grabbing the englishmans arm and pulling him over to the pilot, causing him to stumble a little. "Introduce yourself, alright? I'm gonna put our stuff in the jet.", Alfred informed; taking the Brits luggage from him and walking to the jet with it.

"Hello, my name is Arthur.", the Englishman greeted, extending his hand to the pilot; who accepted his hand and shook it vigorously. "Nice to meet ya Arthur, you can call me Jack.", he Informed with a grin; stepping aside to allow Arthur onto the aircraft. The brit walked up the stairs and into the jet, taking a seat near one of the windows on the plane.

Alfred entered the jet shortly after, followed by Jack. Alfred sat beside Arthur and Jack shit the jet door and hatched it shut before heading into the cockpit and starting the jets engines. The pilot tossed four canisters of pure oxygen into the compartment where Alfred and Arthur were seated. "You might wanna use them, but you don't have to if you're used to thin air.", Jack informed. "Oh, and buckle up! This sucker really goes fast.", he grinned before driving the jet onto the runway.

Both Alfred and Arthur bucked their seat belts as the jet began to crawl forward, gaining speed extremely fast as they neared the end of the runway. As the jet took off, both Alfred and Arthur were pushed back into their seats due to how strong gravity was on the strong jet. Even while airborne it was still difficult to move much, however Alfred found it immensely enjoyable. Arthur wasn't a big fan of the ride, however he didn't complain; instead attempting sleep as his former colony talked his ears off, figuratively.

After he'd woken from his nap, Alfred informed him that they were already in Russia and currently landing at the airport. Arthur didn't have time to look out the window before the jet landed, skidding to a stop on a landing strip. Wow. How conveniently timed his nap had been.

Alfred got off of the jet first after thanking Jack. He got his and Arthur's luggage from the belly of the jet. Arthur followed him, less enthusiastic about jumping from the jet onto snow covered asphalt than Alfred had been.

Alfred began walking briskly to the airport, where he rented the car that looked the last like garbage to him. Alfred once again put both of their luggage into the car and got in the drivers seat, turning the car on with a small scowl. He really hated Russian cars. Arthur got in the passenger seat once again. "I trust you know where Ivan lives?", he asked.

"Duh, of course I do!", Alfred assured him before driving out of he airports car rental garage and onto a slightly deserted looking road that was about 30 minutes away from the airport. Within the next hour, The driveway that lead to Ivan's home was being driven on by the duo. Within the next few minutes, tall white marble walls were visible.

"Shit.. when did those get there?", Alfred asked to himself. "We're gonna have to climb the gate. I have no idea how to get in otherwise that doesn't involve jet packs.", Alfred informed his companion. Arthur simply shrugged. "That's fine by me. Maybe we should arm ourselves however..", Arthur suggested."Yeah that's probably not a bad idea..", the American agreed; parking the rental car on the side of the gate. 

Alfred and Arthur exited the car and climbed the gate; each nation hiding a weapon in their clothing. After Alfred scouted the mansion for a minute, he decided a window entry would be the best option. He chose a window low to the ground and applied pressure to it, grinning victoriously as the sheet of glass came free from its frame and landed with a soft thud in the snow at his feet.

The duo both crept into the Russians home, neither of them making a sound as they looked around the mansion for any sign of Ivan. The only sign that anybody was home at all was the small fire crackling in a grand fireplace in the room they'd entered.


	8. The Discovery

Alfred crouched behind a very old sofa, grimacing as the floorboards creaked loudly. Arthur crept behind him as the two moved closer to the fireplace; expecting Ivan to be near it. The Russian was nowhere to be seen. After carefully and quietly creeping through the kitchen, living room, and a bathroom, they still had not found Ivan. 

"Well this sucks...", The sunny blonde american muttered; rubbing the back of his head. "Where is that Commie?", he asked. 

"We haven't look upstairs, downstairs, or in any of the bedrooms Alfred. He could be anywhere.", Arthur pointed out. "I suggest we look for clues in the hallways first.", the Brit smiled a little. Alfred nodded and grinned happily. Arthur was really fun when he wasn't being a stuffy old man.

Arthur began walking down one of the large hallways, admiring the paintings on the walls and the countless historical artifacts in glass cases lit but dim gas lamps as he walked passed them and looked for any signs of Ivan. Alfred followed him, not caring about the exquisite art nor artifacts. After two or three minutes of walking, Arthur crouched down to the ground. "Look here Alfred. It's dried blood.", he murmured, pointing to a few flakes of blood that were in somewhat of a scattered line. "Oh, that's probably from the bloody nose I gave him.", Alfred explained proudly. "I wanna check downstairs.", he stated before walking away from the Brit.

Arthur nodded in acknowledgment, letting Alfred walk away. He knew that the american could definitely defend himself should he be ambushed by Ivan. Arthur recalled fondly the shock he'd felt as he'd watched his adorable little brother fling a fully grown bison around at the psychical age of five or six. 

Arthur decided to look upstairs. His pulse quickened as he made it to the top of the creaky staircase. Being in this house uninvited was seriously a bad idea. The Russian was known for his temper and cruelty to everyone really. Although Arthur had never actually seen Ivan viciously destroy anybody, there were many stories about the brute. 

Arthur entered one of the restrooms at in the hallway at the top of the staircase, immediately noticing an odd smell. Like old coinage, or an open wound. Frowning, he decided to investigate more. Flipping the bathroom light switch to the on position; Arthur began to snoop around. The first thing he noticed was a wooden box resting atop the counter. Curious, he picked it up and examined it. After smiling a little at how beautiful the animals carved into the wood were, he opened the box.

Razor blades. Why were there razor blades in such a beautiful box? Arthur's frown grew as he looked around the bathroom. Had Ivan been cutting away at old plaster on the walls? Shaving? Arthur didn't know. Setting the box back down, he picked up one of the blades that was on the countertop and examined it before promptly dropping it. His face paled a little. Had Ivan captured an enemy and slit his throat with razor blades? Perhaps cut someone's fingers off. 

Arthur's mind imagained many, many different senaarios as to why there would be a razor blade with a bloody edge in the bathroom. The Englishman imagined every scenario except the one that had actually happened. 

Swallowing nervously, Arthur exited the bathroom and swiftly ran down the stairs. "Alfred!", he called quietly. The energetic american poked his head out of the doorway to the kitchen. "What's up?", he asked. Arthur ran to his side. "Bloody razor blade in the bathroom.. I think Ivan has mutilated some poor soul..", he explained.

Alfred nodded and frowned a little bit before walking to the staircase. Arthur hesitated to follow, but eventually the two were at the top of the staircase. Arthur showed America the bathroom as Alfred scrunched his nose at the smell. "Well it definitely smells like somebody got stabbed in here..", he muttered. "You stay here and look for more clues. I'm gonna look through the bedrooms up here.", Alfred informed before leaving the bathroom and carefully opening the bedroom door next to it. 

The american walked across the hallway, opening door after door until there were only two left. Alfred noticed the door with carvings in its wood before he noticed the last door. Walking over to the heavy door, Alfred gently twisted the handle and pushed it open; his breath hitching as he laid eyes on a large stuffed bear and what looked to be a body. 

Alfred quickly walked back to Arthur. "Artie I think I've found him.", he informed. "Cmon follow me!", he grinned, walking back to the same bedroom he'd been in last with Arthur hot on his heels.

Alfred shoved Arthur inside of the room gently before entering it as well. Cautiously, the two approached the large bed. The american was smirking and had his new cellular phone in his hand as he took photographs of the stuffed bear. As he walked around the bed to get a photo of the bears face, he nearly dropped his phone in surprise, gesturing Arthur to come over.

The american pointed to Russia, who was asleep and wrapped in the bears arms. Arthur's eyes widened in surprise. Alfred continued to take photos as Arthur swallowed nervously and moved closer to the bed, taking a deep breath to calm his nerves before quickly poking the Russian on the shoulder. 

Ivan didn't respond the the poke. "My turn my turn!", Alfred grinned cheerily, roughly jabbing at the Russian. 

This, did wake him. As he opened his eyes slowly, he rolled over to face Alfred and Arthur. As he noticed the two, his eyes widened as he sat upright. "Wh-What are you doing in my home?!", he demanded, shoving his stuffed bear under the comforter of his bed. The sudden movements caused the fresh wounds on his arms to bleed once again, the liquid dripping like ruby tears down his pale forearms.

"Get out. Now.", he growled; getting out of his bed and standing at his full height to better intimidate the two nations. As Alfred puffed his chest out to challenge the Russian, Arthur noticed droplets of blood hitting the floor from where Ivan was standing. He frowned and gently nudged Alfred with his elbow. The American looked at him. Arthur gestures to the floor near Ivan's feet with his eyes. Alfred soon noticed the blood as well. 

Everything seemed to happen in seconds. Due to how much blood Ivan lost, he was slightly disoriented. He noticed the two intruders in his home exchanging looks. The next thing he knew, Alfred had roughly tackled him back onto his bed and put him in a headlock. The Russian didn't fight back. Arthur approached him and grabbed his elbow, lifting it so that the underside of his arm was exposed, displaying all of the cuts as scars he had given to himself. A few of he wounds Had begin to bleed again. 

Both Arthur and Alfred's faces had become pale. Ivan noticed that Alfred's iron headlock had loosened a little. He noticed the shock in the two counties eyes. He noticed Arthur's trembling hands, and hints of disgust in Alfred's eyes. Unwillingly, Ivan began to cry again. Tears slipped down his cheeks silently. 

Alfred was the first to notice Ivan's tears. Carefully, he let go of the tall Russian and sat beside him on the bed. As soon as he'd let go of Ivan, the Russian hid his face in his scarf. It was safe to assume he was still crying. 

Arthur gently let go of Ivan's arm. "I will go get a first aid kit..", he mumbled quietly; leaving Alfred alone with Ivan. 

"..Why..?", The American asked quietly, carefully and cautiously placing his hand on the Russians back. Ivan flinched at the contact and began to tremble a little, causing Alfred to frown. "You know what, fine. I was trying to comfort you but I guess not huh? Nice bear too, jackass.", he hissed, removing his hand and getting off of the bed to go stand by the window. 

Arthur returned with the first aid box. He'd seen one as he was investigating one of the bathrooms. Ivan didn't protest as the Englishman wiped away the fresh blood on his arms and inspected the damage. A suture needle and thread was taken from the box as Arthur slipped on a pair of blue rubber gloves. 

After taking another deep breath to calm himself, Arthur began to carefully sew the largest and deepest cuts on Ivan's arm closed. Alfred watched from his spot near the window, ready to defend Arthur if Ivan was planning an attack. Now Such attack came however, as Arthur finished stitching the last wound on Ivan's other arm closed.


	9. Bed Covers

Arthur still couldn't believe what he'd seen, even if he'd stitched Ivan's wounds closed himself. Was this the reason he always wore his heavy winter coat, even in summer? If the coat hid hundreds of scars and fresh wounds, what did Ivans scarf hide? Oddly, Arthur felt as if he were obliged to find out, and to take care of the Russian. How long had this been happening for? Alfred had mentioned earlier that he'd noticed Ivan's odd behavior at around the end of 60 years. Had Ivan been hurting himself for 60 years? 

Even Alfred, who would frankly rather die than say how much he truly cared about Ivan Braginsky was letting his concern for the Russian remain on his facial features, so that anybody could see he was worried about Ivan. The American's chest ached with guilt as he reasoned silently that he must've played some part in Ivan's destruction of his arms and possibly other places, seeing as he always teased and harassed the Russian, purposely started fights to win and rub Ivan's face into the ground; often times in a literal sense. 

Ivan, seemed utterly broken. He looked fragile. His pale skin was bloody in some parts, there was a dark bruise from Alfreda punch on his cheek. The Russians royal purple eyes were dull, the dark circles beneath them bringing out longing and sadness. How could he have been so careless as to let this happen? The Russian slipped back under his bed covers. If all Alfred and Arthur came to his country and broke into his home for was to gawk at him, he saw absolutely no reason in giving them what they desired. And he was tired as well. Tired of being alive, tired of people running from him and calling him a freak. Tired of everything he supposed.

Arthur's heart broke a little as he watched Ivan hide beneath his covers once again. Even Arthur, who spent a vast majority of his nights alone often had company to talk to. Be it Francis over the telephone, or any one of his many friends. Ivan, so it would seem by he stuffed animals, had nobody. The Englishman could only imagine how touch-starved and how hungry for affections of any kind Ivan must be.

He simply had to help Ivan. Alfred would help too. Even if it was helping one of the most powerful and Dangerous nations on the earth. Really, at this moment Ivan didn't seem all that ferocious. 

Maybe he isn't as psychotic as everyone says. He hadn't attacked either Alfred nor Arthur, and obviously if he was in such emotional pain that he inflicted physical pain upon himself; he definitely had emotions. The tears the Englishman and the American had seen were definitely real too. Not a ploy to attract sympathy like flies to honey, no. Actual tears. Obviously from much sadness, and possibly anger or embarrassment. 

Arthur decided silentently that if he and Alfred are going to help Ivan, first the needed to befriend the tall man. Stop thinking of him as a dangerous psychopath. Visit him often, and be sure to check on how he was feeling. Try their hardest to limit how much vodka Ivan would consume, help him sleep. Eventually perhaps they could lull him out of the fortress he'd made around hismlef. It could take time however, unless Ivan was as touch-starved as Arthur assumed. He knew from study that not receiving enough affection or attention could Be utterly devastating to ones mind. It changed how they acted, how they thought. 

Arthur's nurturing instincts were definitely kicking in the more he thought about Ivan. Truth be told, neither Alfred nor Arthur knew much about the Russian who lay hidden away under bed sheets. However, there was plenty of time to remedy that.


	10. A Plan

Arthur carefully placed his hand on the sad lump of Russian hidden away under the covers on his bed. Just as he had reacted to Alfred's gentle touch earlier, he began to tremble, causing Arthur to frown. Why was Ivan shaking? He was one of the most powerful countries in the world, what did he had to fear? Arthur knew he wouldn't hurt the Russian, and he was fairly certain Alfred wouldn't either after seeing Ivan so broken.

Alfred walked back over to Ivan's bedside to sit beside Arthur, looking at the Englishman. Oh great. Artie as in his 'mother mode' again. Did Arthur not know who he wanted to take care of? Would Alfred have to stay in Russia with Arthur and Ivan to ensure the Btit's safety? There was always a possibility Ivan wasn't as ruthless and cruel as everyone thought him to be, but it was alwyas good to be cautious.

"Ivan..?", Arthur tried softly. "..I would like to help you...", he murmured; doubting the Russian would believe him, but still trying anyway. 

Arthur wanted to help him? It was just as he had always fantasised. There was no way the Englishman was being serious, was there? Ivan doubted it highly. Surely he just felt bad for the pathetic, lonely Russian. But Arthur had said help, not care for. Nobody would care for Ivan. Except for himself, which even then he did terribly. It is quite easy to not provide yourself with basic necessities of life when the person you despise the most is your self. It is easy to not care should you get hurt, or anything similar.

"I uh.. I do too.", Alfred muttered with just a hint of reluctance in his voice. Although he wasn't particularly good friends with Russia, it wasn't as if he wanted Ivan to hurt himself. The american frankly believed that everyone deserved happiness. 

Alfred, America, his old nemesis wanted to help him? No, surley he was lying to gain Arthur's praise. He had no reasons to what to help Ivan. The Russian wanted to open up to the two nations however. His eldest sister had often told him that unless you spoke to people about your problems and accepted help when it was needed, the problems in question wound never go away. And that was fine. Ivan didn't need his problems to go away. He could end them rather easily. He'd done so before.

The first time had been during the fall of his previous Soviet Union. He'd shot himself in the head with his trusted Tokarev without a second thought. He found however, that as long as his country wasn't dissolved like the once great Prussian Empire, he could not die. One of his older rules had found this out much sooner than the Russian diplomat had. Much earlier. Ivan had always assumed it was luck that he hadn't died yet. Ivan IV Vasilyevich had found this little knack about his underling to be quite useful.

Ivan recalled as he would be used as a laboratory rat for testing new poisons, weapons, torture tactics, and many other gruesome things. Still, even as Ivan IV Vasilyevich had done many terrible things; Ivan Braginsky still held tremendous respect for the man. Even if he had blinded the architect that created St. Basil's Cathedral to prevent him from ever creating something as beautiful again. And abused Ivan to the point he was actually afraid of his confrontations with the man. Was it really respect Ivan had for Vasilyevich then? He supposed not. A reasonable amount of his scars were from that particular ruler.

Sighing quietly at Ivan's silentness, Arthur got off of his bed. "I will go make us tea..", he murmured. "Is that alright Ivan..?", the Englishman asked gently; carefully tugging the bed covers off of Ivan so that the Russians tear stained face became visible tucked away in his scarf.

Ivan frowned as his face was revealed to his two guests..? The Russian, while still very upset for the uninvited intrusion of the two nations was thankful to have company. He would be a good host, prove to the two superpowers that he wasn't as evil as everyone said. Perhaps they would become his friend in time; but for now it was likely they needed a place to spend the night. Wiping away his tears with his scarf, Ivan carefully got out of his bed and stood. "Nyet, I will go prepare tea and supper. You are planning to stay the night, da?", he asked.

Wait, what? Ivan was going to let them stay at his house, and feed them? Alfred couldn't believe what he was hearing. What was the Russian playing at? Alfred frowned, but remembered what he'd thought earlier. As he thought more about Ivan's sudden suspicious behavior, Alfred decided that perhaps Ivan just wanted human company. Alfred could understand that. Still, he would keep his guard up.

"Ah, yes; if that's alright with you that is..",Arthur asked, sounding as flabbergasted as Alfred's thoughts. Was Ivan accepting his offer of care? Arthur smiled a little to himself, despite the still rather dark mood in the home. 

"Da, it is alright with me. I do not know how you two came here, but there are many bedrooms you may rest in.", Ivan stated. "Please, make yourselves at home.", he spoke with a rather melancholic tone. He was slouching just a little bit, not that anybody would notice due to his height however. Ivan could only hope that Arthur and Alfred accepting his generosity and did not suspect him of plotting their temporary deaths or anything similar.


	11. A Kind Host

Neither Arthur nor Alfred had expected hospitality to be shown to them by Ivan. In actuality, both of the blonde nations had travled to Russia with the intentions of finding Ivan plotting world domination or something similar; and possibly going home with a few bruises and broken bones. 

After entering one of the restrooms in his home and changing into a light pink silk long sleeved shirt, Ivan lead the two to his living room and allowed them to sit wherever they'd like. Arthur chose the end of an elegant sofa that was near the fireplace. Alfred chose a plush armchair with ornate detail. Both of them took notice of the cushioned rocking chair closest to the fire. A small stack of books and a wicker basket filled with yarn and knitting needles sat on either side of the chair. The inanimate object, somehow seemed to hold a great sadness and loneliness. Perhaps it was just the shadows of the flames in the dim lighting of the house.

As Arthur and Alfred sat in his living room idly discussing random topics that came to mind, Ivan was busily working in his kitchen. Really the Russian was overjoyed at having company that didn't seem to be afraid of him, even if they had come at the absolute worst time possible. Regarding how the two felt about him; Ivan could see fear in their eyes. Oh well, at least they hid their fear unlike the Baltics he used to live with.and every other nation really. 

Ivan frowned as he worked. He didn't have all the ingredients he needed to make Stroganoff as he'd wanted to. Why stroganoff? He didn't want his guests to starve or force them to eat entirely foreign food, seeing as how relatively well known stroganoff was in both the United States and England. Ivan began to cry again. Would Alfred and Arthur still eat whatever he made? Arthur had made clear that he would eat anything, as a true gentleman would; but Alfred had not been so clear. He didn't want his guests to run away because he served them the wrong fold..

He only had ingredients for Solyanka soup, and by far it was one of his country's most iconic dishes along with Borscht and such. The soup was a little spicy, and a good meal to eat if you had vodka flu. Wiping away his tears and washing his hands, Ivan began to cook. The soup would have to cook for at least an hour to taste even somewhat decent; however Ivan was a good cook as most Russians are. 

Within an hour and thirty minutes, the Solyanka was ready. Ivan spooned the soup into ceramic bowls decorated with cranes and potato fields and with matching plates, setting both the bowls and plates on a tray with spoons and small containers of lemons slices and sour cream. 

Biting his lip to chase away his worry, Ivan carefully brought the tray of food to his guests. Arthur took his bowl, plate, and spooned a little bit of sour cream into his soup before thanking Ivan and beginning to eat.

Alfred was a little more hesitant about eating the soup the russian had prepared. Everyone knew that soups were amongst the easiest of food to poison. And while poison wouldn't kill Alfred, it was always an unpleasant experience to spend hours at a time crouched over a toilet vomiting your stomach away. After a look from Arthur however, Alfred began to eat. 

Huh. Not bad. The soup actually tasted pretty good. Alfred had never known before that Ivan was such a talented chef. Perhaps he could ask the Russian to cook for him sometime. Maybe a hamburger with a Russian twist. Alfred thought about a Russian hamburger more. He knew there were McDonald's and such resutraunts in Russia, however he was willing to bet Ivan never went to them. Alfred was sure Ivan ate his hamburgers with just plain meat and bun. Almost like it were a gulag meal instead of the scrumptious food that Alfred was so proud of. 

The soup was definitely good though. Alfred would give the commie that much. Probably much more too, seeing as how he'd agreed to help Arthur practically take care of the Russian.


	12. Doing Well

Arthur was definitely impressed by how Ivan was behaving. Not proud of how he'd hurt himself so badly, but how proud of the Russian actually was at being a good host. Arthur felt like a proud father watching his son learn how to ride a bycicle without stabalizng wheels for the first time; however Ivan was no young lad and Arthur still knew excruciatingly little about him. He did observe however that Ivan did not eat any of the food he had prepared.

As Arthur caught glimpses of Ivan pacing about in his kitchen, not observed something just as worrying as the self harm. Ivan had lost a lot of weight. His coat often hide his shape very well, and his scarf played a role in making the Russians face look more plump as well. However, the sleepwear he was wearing currently did not hide his shape at all. 

Arthur recalled seeing Ivan with a healthier weight at some point. He remembered laughing at Ivan for wearing a tank-top with a scarf, pants, and boots. He remembered Francis had dared to explain to the Russian that his fashion sense was horrible, and that he should loose weight.

Despite how many years ago that incident was, it seemed Ivan had lost at least nine kilograms. Wether he'd lost the weight from exercise, Arthur doubted. Given the terrible state Ivan was in, Arthur was fairly certain the Russian had been starving himself. The Englishman mentally added 'get Ivan to eat', to his mental list of things he and Alfred must to to help the Russian. 

So far, the first parts were going swimmingly. To not show fear was the first part. Arthur was actually finding it very easy. He was not simply hiding his fear to follow through with his plan, no. Seeing as how kind Ivan had been despite his home being broken into rattled the Englishman to his bones. Had all the rumours told about Ivan actually been lies? 

Alfred yawned sleepily, having finished his serving of soup a little while before Arthur. With the warm soup in his stomach and the gentle heat of the softly crackling fireplace, Alfred felt like he would doze off in the arm chair he'd selected.

His former caretaker noticed the Americans head lolling to his shoulders as he struggled to stay awake. 

"Ivan?", Arthur called. The Russian poked his head out from the kitchen doorway to look at Arthur. "Da?"

"I am going to put Alfred to bed..do you have a room you would like him to sleep in specifically?", he asked. 

"Not a specific room. Any of the bedrooms upstairs are good for him.", he informed. "You look tired as well, da? You also can choose whichever bedroom you would like."

"Ah, thank you old chap. Your generosity is truley remarkable.", he offered the Russian a small smile, hoping it didn't look forced.

Ivan didn't smile back at him and instead vanished into th kitchen once more, likley cleaning or washing dishes. 

Arthur walked over to Alfred. The American was definitely asleep now as his soft but deep breathing and drool would indicate. Pausing for a moment to decide which way would be the best to get Alfred up the large staircase, Artur decided on the bridal carry. Scooping Alfred into his arms gently, he made his way to and up the staircase. Which room to put the American in though? Neither of them had gotten their luggage from the car they had rented, so Arthur supposed it didn't matter.

Opening the door to the bedroom directly across from Ivan's one handedly was quite the hap-hazardous stunt. Still, Arthur had managed with relatively small difficulty. The bedroom he had chosen for Alfred was almost as grand as Ivan's. Arthur suspected most of the rooms were, seeing as how everything in Ivan's home looked exquisite. 

Except for Ivan Braginsky himself.


	13. The Sleepover

Arthur gently set the mostly asleep American in the soft bed that was in the room. Alfred immediately cuddled into the sheets with a sleepy mumble. After tucking Alfred into the bed just as he used to when the strong nation was much younger, Arthur left the room; leaving the door cracked a little.

When the Englishman returned to th living room, Ivan was in his rocking chair beside the fireplace, gently rocking back and fourth. Perhaps it was just the lighting in the room, but Ivan looked much older than he actually was; sitting and rocking. All nations had a psychical age that they stayed at for decades at a time, as well as an actual age from when they became an official country. 

Hesitantly, Arthur sat in a soft armchair directly across from Ivan. Clearly the living room was built to host many people. Many places to sit, windows to look out of. Arthur expected that the large kitchen was there to help cook food to feed a great many people as well. 

And yet still, Ivan was so lonely. From the short time Arthur had spent with the Russian, he was nowhere near as murderous as rumours had told. He was in fact quite kind, however Arthur had a theory that perhaps Ivan was being so kind to him and even Alfred because of his loneliness. He'd read about people in his country that'd quite literally died of lonliness. Something involving emotional trauma was involved in their deaths however. 

"Thank you for the meal, Ivan. It was very good.. may I ask who taught you how to cook?", he asked, glancing back and fourth at the fire and Ivan. 

"Peter Alexeyevich. And the servants he kept in Peterhof castle.", Ivan informed him; not looking up from his hands in his lap. What on earth was Arthur planning? He'd seen Ivan in one of his most vulnerable states. Would he sell information to others? Ivan had been sure he'd heard the shutter of digital camera lenses. Alfred had probably taken photographs. What would become of those. 

Arthur wanted to ask to stay longer with the Russian. Surely just a day or two would do nothing to improve Ivan's mood, or state of living. Arthur knew that how terrible Ivan looked at the moment wasn't entirely the russians fault. The Englishman knew that Ivan's entire country was suffering. Economically, there was population decrease, starvation in some parts, and severe alcoholism. Not to mention the violence in the streets, and the ever stirring conflict involving politics.

Was that the reason Ivan was so sad? Arthur felt as though Ivan had a thick aura of depression surrounding him at all times, however he also felt something more. Never before now had ever noticed just how beautiful Ivan's eyes were, or how soft his skin looked. He'd never noticed how cute the Russians large nose was, or how utterly adorable it was when Ivan would hide in his scarf.

Fuck. Did he have a crush on Ivan? Arthur frowned. He didn't have any terribly strong feelings for Ivan at all before.. it didn't seem likely that he did. But what if he did? What would Ivan do if he ever found out? As far as Arthur knew, Ivan had never had any romantic relationships whatever. Arthur swallowed nervously. And looked at Ivan.

The Russians face was devoid of any emotions. He was staring blankly at his lap, where he held his hands together. What was he thinking about? Arthur wanted to ask. Should he? He still didn't know the Russian very well, and he didn't know if Ivan would be alright to openly discuss anything other than things pertaining to worldly events?

"How are you feeling Ivan..?", Arthur asked, mentally slapping himself immediately after. The Russian was obviously doing terribly.

"I am doing well.", he murmured dully. 

Eh? Arthur didn't know Ivan's emotions, but he definitely knew that a person harming themselves generally didn't mean doing well. He frowned a little and crossed his arms. He wanted the truth from Ivan, not a cheap lie like the one he'd just been given. 

He'd get the truth out of Ivan one way or another he decided.


	14. Getting the Truth out

Arthur stared at Ivan. It felt as if something was drawing the Englishman to the Russian. Why? He should just tell Ivan. He'd get it over with and then perhaps he'd feel better. 

"How long will you allow me and Alfred to stay in your home, Ivan?", Arthur asked, continuing to observe the Russian. 

"As Long as you wish I suppose.", he murmured softly, adjusting his scarf and getting out of his rocking chair to begin walking away. 

"Hey, where are you going?", Arthur asked worriedly. Where was he running off to? Was he going to hurt himself again?

"I have work must finish.", he explained tiredly, not stopping to look at Arthur as he continued walking. Within minutes, Ivan was out of the Englishman's sight. 

Sighing quietly, Arthur stood up as well and walked to the room he'd left Alfred in. As he entered the room, he yawned a little. As he looked about the room, the same invasive thoughts he'd had earlier while enjoying Solyanka with Ivan began to come back. The Englishman wondered if Alfred had somewhat similar feelings. It was unlikely, but he would definitely ask. 

After a moment of brief hesitation he gently shook Alfred's shoulder. Alfred didn't stir at all. Arthur tried again, with more determination. The gently shake was now a two handed effort as finally Alfred woke up with a sleepy grunt. "Huh? What's up?", he yawned.

"Well..I was wondering erm.. how you feel about Ivan..? How you actually feel about him and not how you pretend to feel about him for public eyes and such..", atthur mused, causing Alfred to tilt his head a little before clearing his throat awkwardly. 

"Why do you need to know?", he asked. A faint blush was visible on his cheeks.

"Because my own feelings are acting oddly and I do not know what to do or if it is just because I want to care for him..", he explained, looking at his feet and running his hands through his messy hair. 

"Oh, well that makes sense dude. I guess.. I guess I care about him too.. or want to care about him? He's kinda cute too..", Alfred muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. "Did I ever tell you that he has a huge package too? Uh, if you know what I mean..", Alfred laughed nervously.

The tips of Arthur's ears turned red. "No, you have not said that before", he squeaked, clearing his throat embarrassedly. 

"Oh. Yeah I'm kinda jealous to be honest. I wanna see if it's really that big or if it's just his underwear or something. Do you think I'd loose an eye or something if I asked?", he questioned. 

"WelI certainly did not raise you that way, but I suppose if he tried to hurt you yiu would definitely be able to ah.. take care of yourself I suppose.", he murmured thoughtfully, 

"Alrighty, where is he? I wanna try and hug him too..", he muttered. 

"Ah, I think perhaps I would like to hug him as well.", Arthur decided. "I'm afraid I won't be able to defend myself as well as you can however if he should attack. Which I doubt he will."

"Cool dude, but where'd he go?",Alfred asked once again, getting out of his borrowed bed with a yawn. 

"I will go look for him. He said that he had work to do and I do believe we walked past an office room as we were looking for Ivan.", he smiled a little.

"Alright cool. I'm gonna look for him with ya if you don't mind.", Alfred smiled. 

"Of course I do not mind. Let's go, shall we?"


	15. The Hug

"I wish my house were this big.", Alfred sighed as he and Arthur walked through the grand hallways of Ivan's mansion. "Not that I couldn't build a House as big as this or bigger if I wanted. I'm pretty sure California has more money than Ivan's entire country.", the american bragged.

"That Is fantastic Alfred, but if you remember we are looking for Ivan's office room and not bragging the American Economy?", he mused, obviously amused with how proud his former colony was of his country. Even Arthur could be incredibly patriotic for his own country at times. He was even wearing boxers with th United Kingdom flag on them at the moment. Not as if that mattered he supposed. It wasn't as if Alfred or Ivan were to witness his patriotism for his country via his underwear. "Even if it would be nice..", he thought to himself silently.

He had been feeling rather horny lately. It was quite awful too. In fact during the last meeting as he'd been arguing with Francis he had to forfeit his argument halfway through in order to take care of an unsightly erection that had formed in his dress pants. A faint blush appeared on the Englishman's cheeks as he recalled hearing his own stifled moans echo throughout the men's restroom. 

His cheek was poked. "Hey Iggy, watcha blushing about?", Alfred asked, continuing to softly jab his finger into the soft flesh of the Englishman's cheek. 

"Nothing, Alfred.", he stated, blushing more as he recalled graphic details from his quick jack off. He remembered the ball of nervousness and arousal in the pit of his loins knowing that anybody could walk in and see him. He remembered accidentally glancing at a mirror and seeing his own flushed and slightly sweaty face as well as a silvery line of drool slipping from his open and quietly gasping mouth. He knew he was rather sensitive when it came to sexual acts, however he also knew that he had great stamina. Really, he could go on for ages and ages just as he used to in his pirate days still. 

"Yeah 'nothing Alfred' my ass. What is it?", the American whined. "Cmon I won't tell anybody!", he begged, tugging at Arthur's sleeve. 

"It's personal you ninny!", Arthur squeaked, clearing his throat and shoving the American off of him. "Is that an office room there?", he asked, pointing to a large closed door with light shining brightly beneath the bottom. 

"Looks like it. Unless Ivan's house is haunted by dead imperialists..", Alfred murmured with a small shudder, causing Arthur to snicker a little. Easily frightened people were really quite fun. Especially when there are multitudinous opportunities to scare said easily frightened people. 

"Don't laugh asshole! If there are ghosts you'll just have your brain eaten first! You have to respect them or else they get super pissed off.", Alfred explained, walking closer to the door with visibly shaking knees.

Arthur giggled before walking past Alfred and knocking on the door boldly, all previous worries about being hurt by Ivan gone.

The only sound to be heard was silence. 

Arthur frowned and knocked again. Was Ivan alright in there? Arthur hadn't seen a trace of the Russian for at least two hours after he'd disappeared to do work. Had he remembered to drink water and use the restroom when needed? Was he even in there?

Impulsively, Arthur turned the doorknob and opened the door, entering the room without a trace of hesitation. "Ivan?", Arthur asked, gasping a few seconds later as he noticed the Russian slumped over his desk atop a pile of paperwork, books, and documents. 

Quickly, the Englishman walked over to Ivan and began to feel for a pulse. He tried Ivan's wrists first, beginning to sweat a little as he did. After a moments hesitation he carefully placed a hand on Ivan's scarf. 

Immediately after he'd done so, Ivan was sitting up straight. Arthur's wrist was in the russians iron grip, and his soul was being stared into by fearsome violet eyes. After a moment however, all of Ivan's conviction died and he flopped back onto his desk with a weak groan.

Arthur gulped as he caught his breath. Ivan could've easily broken his wrist just t hen, or worse. Was it because Arthur had touched his scarf? Well, at least now Arthur knew Ivan definitely had a pulse. Carefully, he out his hand on the Russians back. There was no response from Ivan. 

"Alfred, be a dear and help me carry him to bed will you lad?", The Brit asked, gingerly scooting Ivan's desk chair into the open space of the office as best he could. 

The office, as all the other rooms, was grand. Portraits of Ivan's favourite leaders hung from the walls and bookshelves adorned the sides of the room. In the center of the room, a small but elegant chandelier hung from the ceiling above a tarnished oak desk; which sat on a fine Russian carpet across from yet another velvet sofa. 

Alfred entered the room hesitantly and immediately noticed Ivan. "What's his dea?", he asked.

"I'm not sure. I think perhaps it is just that maybe he has not been taking care of himself.. but come help me carry him please?"

"Sure dude.", the American grinned before walking over. "I'll take his legs and you take his arms?", he asked. 

"Sure.", Arthur agreed, gingerly grabbing Ivan's arms and tugging softly to adjust him out of the chair. Ivan made a small sleepy sound of discomfort, but didn't wake up.

Alfred grabbed the Russians legs and lifted, still smiling happily. Arthur adjusted his grip so that he was holding Ivan's shoulders. Soon, the had the heavy Russian off of the chair and suspended between the two blonde nations. "See, I told you it was big.", Alfred muttered, eyeing the Russians crotch with an almost hunger and predatory glimmer in his eyes. 

Arthur couldn't help but look as well, smirking a little despite his usually gentlemanly posture and attitude. "Maybe we can have some fun later eh? You know, since Ivan's rather sad.. a good three way has never failed to lift my spirits, and I reckon perhaps Ivan would be the same..", Arthur mused.

Alfred's grin only grew larger. "Hell yeah dude.", he agreed.

Arthur smiled at the American before beginning to walk carefully so that Ivan's Rest wounding be disturbed before he was able to actually rest in a bed. Just as the three had made it to the bottom of the staircase which lead to Ivan's room, the Russian groaned softly.

Both Arthur and Alfred held their breath and waited a solid three minutes before carefully ascending the staircase. Soon they were at Ivan's door. Arthur nudged the door open with his foot before manoeuvring himself and his half of Ivan inside the room. Alfred followed shortly after. The both set Ivan down on his bed carefully.

"Well that went a hell of a lot better than I thought it would.", Alfred quipped.

"It certainly did.", Arthur mused, yawning a little. Carefully, Arthur dragged Ivan to the center of the bed and carefully rested the Russians head on one of the many plush pillows that adorned the bed. He then gently removed Ivan's house wear shoes and tucked him into his bed softly. 

"Dude You're like a mom or something.", Alfred snickered.

Arthur simply scoffed and looked at Ivan before taking off his own shoes and overcoat. He then carefully slipped into the sheets behind Ivan after shoving the stuffed bear Ivan had been sleeping with earlier to the floor. After a moment of observing Ivan to be sure he wasn't awake, Arthur moved every closer and carefully wrapped his arms around Ivan's back.

Alfred watched the two curiously before smiling and slipping under the covers as well, after taking his own jacket and shoes off. Alfred got into the sheets in front of the Russian and hesitated briefly before moving as close to Ivan as Arthur was and wrapping his arms around the Russian as well.

Ivan felt impossibly cold. As if the chill of his country constantly seeped out through his fair skin. Still, Arthur and Alfred did not mind. Ivan was a little spoon to both Arthur and Alfred, and he was sleeping much much better than Arthur had seen from previous experiences. "Well done.", Arthur thought to himself proudly.


	16. Beneath the Scarf

Ivan had slept incredibly well. As he lay in bed, he noticed that for once he felt warm. Oddly warm. 

Frowning a little, Ivan opened his eyes. His face was resting comfortably on a shoulder. There were arms around his waist and hands on his back. He whimpered softly. Was he having another nightmare about Prussia and Mongolia? He remembered after they had been particularly rough they would all share a bed. After a few months, Ivan had dared to ask why.

The reason, as Mongolia had told him was "Because pretty little dolls such as yourself shouldn't have such large and luxurious beds to themselves, should they?"

Ivan's frown grew as he carefully removed his face from the crook of someone's neck and shoulder. He could feel soft puffs of breath and occasional movement.

Squinting, he observed blonde hair. 

No. It couldn't be. Had his guests seduced him to bed and had their way with him? Had it been the other way around? Sitting up quicky, Ivan tried to untangle himself from the arms only minutes ago he'd been so tenderly embraced in.

Alfred grumbled sleepily the sudden movement and opened his eyes.

Arthur yawned as he was woken by what he assumed was Ivan thrashing about. However, instead of letting the Russian free from his hold; Arthur only held onto Ivan a little tighter. "Ivan, hush. It is just me and Alfred..", he murmured.

Ivan whimpered quietly. He'd been told to be quiet, why? They were guests in him home, unless something had happened he didn't know about? He remembered fainting at his desk in the middle of reading an important document, had he been abducted and taken to the United Kingdom or the United States of America? 

It didn't seem so by the how the bed they were currently all on felt. 

Alfred noticed Ivan's whimper. Was the Russian scared? Of what? Alfred didn't see any reasons why Ivan would be whimpering. He was warm, and he was being shown affection by both himself and Arthur. It seemed perfect to Alfred. 

"Let us take care of you Ivan..", Arthur murmured, carefully putting his hand on the Russians trembling shoulder.

Arthur and Alfred wanted to take care of him? What did that mean? So far, it had meant company and people who weren't afraid of Ivan to talk to.. maybe he should allow them to take care of him? 

As he remembered he didn't care wether he lived or died, he allowed Arthur's hand to gently lay him down once again.

Ivan didn't struggle as Arthur moved closer to him and carefully draped his arm across the Russians chest. Alfred moved closer as well and fingered at his scarf. 

Immediately the Americans hands were slapped away from the scarf.

"Ivan.", Arthur scolded gently. "We cannot take care of you if you don't let us.", the Englishman chastised.

Ivan whimpered once again. "Nyet, I have changed my mind. I can take care of myself..", he mumbled, his body not wanting to believe what his mind wanted to. He craved affection of all kinds. His body longed for the warmth of other people, for conversations and praise. His mind however, did not. His mind didn't trust just anybody who decided to show kindness to him purely out of the good in their hearts or similar. 

Arthur gave Ivan his infamous 'I'm older than you so listen to me' look that Alfred had seen many, many times. 

"Let him take of the scarf. It will feel better once it's off.", the Englishman promised, imagining that a scarf wasn't very comfortable in bed.

"I cannot.", the Russian mumbled, trying to turn away from both Alfred and Arthur. 

Alfred frowned. "Why the hell not?", he asked.

When Ivan didn't answer, Arthur looked at Alfred. The two blondes shared a look. Within the course of fifteen seconds Alfred was sitting atop Ivan's chest and keeping his arms pinned to his sides as Arthur began to carefully unwind the scarf from around Ivan's neck.

"N-nyet!", the Russian begged, beginning to sob freely as the scarf was removed. After it was taken off fully, bandages could be seen wrapped around the Russians neck. 

"Ivan, what are these bandages here for..?", Arthur asked, his voice an octave lower and sounding incredibly frightening to the already skittish Russian.

Ivan couldn't seem to say anything other than a whimpered mantra of Nyet, please no, and do not remove them.

Arthur removed the bandages anyway. In what little natural moon light the window provided, neither Alfred not Arthur immediately noticed anything wrong with Ivan's neck. It wasn't until Alfred got off of his chest and began to unbutton the Russians pink silk shirt that he noticed a large scar. 

"Artie, get the lights will you?", he asked softly, leaving Ivan's shirt halfway unbuttoned.

Ivan whimpered and reached for for his scarf that had been set aside.

Arthur got out of he comfortable and warm bed, walking over to the lighting switches and turning them to the on position.

As the dim lighting illuminated Ivan's bedroom, Alfred gasped quietly. 

Arthur heard the gasp and walked over to the bed as well, sitting in front of Alfred on the side of the bed. As he caught a look of the Russians neck without the bandages, he covered his mouth.

Ivan's neck was covered in scars. Even more than his arms were. There were large ones, smaller ones, thin silvery ones, and many more. The most noticeable of the scars was the one that covered the entire circumference of the Russians pale neck. As if it were a collar. The truth however was much darker. 

Hesitantly, Alfred reached for Ivan's scarf to hand it back to the Russian; however it was snatched from his fingers before Ivan had a chance to take it. 

"You can have this back when you explain how you got all of these scars.", Arthur promised, putting the long piece of soft fabric behind his back: 

Ivan began to cry more, wishing he had his scarf to hide his tears. 

Alfred licked his lips nervously and glanced to the side of the room, unsure how he was feeling about this situation. A part of Ivan's body he doubted anyone had ever seen was being shown to him. Obviously Ivan didn't want a single soul to see his scars, hence the reason for the long coat and scarf.

The american wanted to touch the scars. Was he allowed to? Would that hurt Ivan? 

"Well Ivan? I'm waiting.", Arthur reminded, crossing his arms over his chest. 

The Russian sniffled and latched onto Alfred, hiding his face in the Americans chest much too the surprise of both Alfred and Arthur. 

Alfred glanced at the Englishman. Arthur's eyes were the sizes of supper plates. 

Ivan was still sobbing heavily into the Americans chest with his face hidden. Chewing on his lip for a moment, Alfred carefully put his arms around Ivan and began to gently run his fingers up and down the Russians back.

After a few minutes, Ivan's sobbing died down to small sniffles and hiccups as the abnormally emotional Russian began to regain his emotionless facade, much to the dismay of Arthur and Alfred.


End file.
